


do you sense it?

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>derek can smell the attraction coming off of stiles and it drives him crazy. he decides to do something about it, which comes as a surprise to stiles. what is even more surprising is that when the claws come out, stiles finds he wants them to stay out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. smell

**Author's Note:**

> this is set after at least 2.10, no major reason or spoilers, it's just when i started writing, and that's how far their interactions have gotten.

it had been coming for a while, stiles was not taken by surprise (not quite). but that’s how derek had wanted it. he wanted the thrill of the chase. No, not a chase, more of a slow stalking toward his prey, making sure it knew he was on its trail, and watching to see what it would do with that fear.  
  
the first words stiles had ever said to him were “i’m not afraid of you.” the second ones were “all right, i am, but...” derek knew the first statement was false because he’d heard stiles’ heartbeat crashing from the moment he moved toward the car derek was in. he’d expected to hear it spike in the lie that almost caught in stiles’ throat, but to be able to see it there, pulsing in the carotid artery, that made derek have to swallow. once the truth about his fear was out, Stiles' heartbeat found its rhythm and thrummed hard as he snapped at the answers to his questions and worried them out of derek, not letting them out of his grasp till he knew what they looked like and where they fit in the puzzle.  
  
Derek could tell the fear hadn’t left Stiles--he could smell it--it was just trumped by other emotions and other priorities. and as they crossed paths more frequently, he realized how much of a motivator fear was for stiles. he was loyal and good at sniffing out the truth, he had much better judgment than Scott about what plans would work, and he had a nose for who to trust. But the thing that really brought Stiles to his full potential was when he was working off of the adrenaline rush that fear unleashed in him. It put him in a state that heightened everything and made him burn hot and bright. And Derek could pick up on that state like tuning into a voice no matter how far away. In fact, his senses were stuffed full of it when he was close to it, that at first he couldn't function. Stiles smelled like he was high on something, his heartbeat hitting a back beat that the syncopation of his thoughts complemented well, the speed of both carrying him along at a manic pace. The heat coming off him was palpable, and he looked like an excited puppy with too-big feet playing tug-o-war with a sock. There was something else that radiated off him though, something between electric current and musk that hit the back of Derek’s throat and made him reticent to speak, afraid of what his voice would do in that rarified air.  
  
It took him a while to figure it out for some reason, this strong, smart, savvy wolf. He wasn’t used to being bombarded with this feeling from such an unlikely corner and it threw him the first few times he encountered it. Then when he finally identified it and mastered his own response to it, he realized that Stiles had no idea he was transmitting something so potent. If he had he would have shut it down completely. Or, as much as is humanly possible. Which would still not escape detection by Derek’s non-human senses, but at least it wouldn’t be so consuming.  
  
Stiles, tho. He was kinda clueless for a while. Not about the fear, that he would admit. It was the sex that was off his radar. Clearly, he had never had any. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t broadcasting his desire for it. His need. The imperative that fear drew out of his chemistry. Makes for a difficult life in Beacon Hills. Though maybe it was only the fear that Derek brought. There was no knowing this. You can talk about pheromones and instinct and whatever you want, but all Derek knew was the fact that the particular combination of scents and sensations that came off of Stiles when Derek scared him was a powerful aphrodisiac.  
  
It hadn’t been until Derek figured out what was happening to him, mastered it, and then, as an experiment, channeled his response into something like a scent for Stiles to pick up, that the feedback loop was complete and sparked some sort of recognition in Stiles. Derek felt that too. The moment that whatever he was transmitting to Stiles--apart from annoyance or exasperation or even anger--was picked up on and processed. That was a half minute that went in slow motion for Derek so that he could observe every tiny aspect of what Stiles was dealing with. It was exhilarating. It was like watching a rabbit catch your scent on the wind, freeze, scan the treeline, judge the distance, tense every muscle and then shoot off at lightning speed. Stiles did the conversational equivalent to this. And it made Derek secretly smirk. Because Stiles was not completely ignorant of the possibility of something connecting, he couldn't be. The potential was too apparent. He just had no clue how to navigate it. He bounded off in every direction as long as it looked like it was away from Derek. Except the angle he took was oblique and didn’t bring him that much further away, or out of Derek's line of sight.  
  
Stiles was clearly afraid, but not paralyzed. He was curious. And Derek wasn’t moving quickly. he was stalking slowly and visibly toward Stiles, letting him adjust to each new moment of proximity, until they were actually close enough that if Stiles didn’t have a clue or didn’t have the cojones or didn’t want to break his beautiful fiction around his perfect feelings for Lydia, he would have to make the move away. To create and maintain distance. Derek wasn’t going to do it for him. By that time, he couldn’t. The heady emanations that Stiles had inadvertently trained him to want had him bound. Or caged. Or, as Derek surprised himself to admit, anchored.  
  
Whatever Stiles was doing with his fear in order to transmogrify it into sex appeal, it was the same thing Derek did with his anger to ground his werewolfishness. But it wasn’t the same as whatever twisted thing Scott had done to get his wolfish nature all tied up in his feelings for Allison. this was different. Don’t ask him how, it just was.  
  
What took a bit longer was the next step. It wasn’t enough for Stiles to pick up on Derek’s response to his own fear, he had to classify said response as desire, and recognize his own reaction as the same. Derek thought of it as morse code for horny wolves. An sos, a response with offer of aid, and acceptance of that offer. And full consciousness of this communication happening. Stiles was good at trusting his gut on a lot of things, but this one took a while to come to his attention. And Derek lost patience with subtlety and subtext and finally just looked him dead in the eye after the feedback loop had been building to its strongest yet. Stiles’ response? ‘Oh my God...’ in a quavering voice. Acknowledgment, check. Consent would come later.  
  
Next, Derek had to assess how open Stiles was to the idea that pain, even bloody pain, could be useful, welcomed. An aid. That clicked quicker than Derek expected. Stiles acted disgusted when Derek dug his claws into his own thigh, but he couldn't take his eyes off it, and his heartbeat hit the the by now familiar rhythm Derek had hoped for. However, the time and place to build off that achievement was long in coming. Finally, Derek just took it. Took him.  
  
Caught him off guard in his own driveway, about to get out of his jeep. Derek hopped in shotgun and just sat there looking at Stiles, who'd jumped six inches off his seat. The almost-scent of his fear and desire vaporizing was heady and electrified them both. Stiles put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, pulling it down over his crotch, while Derek moved his hands away from his own for the shadows to catch in the contours swelling the denim.  
  
”Jesus, Derek! What do you want?”  
  
”You know what I want, Stiles.”  
  
”No I...” Derek was looking at him hungrily and that thing--not quite a thought nor a sensation--that he’d been pushing to the back of his mind (ignoring it, hoping it would go away) jumped into the front of everything and his pulse shocked him by spiking faster and harder than it was already going. “Yes. I do.”  
  
”Well?” Derek’s eyebrow raised, half challenge, half question.  
  
”Yes. Take it.” Stiles didn’t actually know how much Derek would take. ‘Give em an inch...’ but at this point, the pain of resisting was strong enough that he didn’t care. Not really. He was pretty sure Derek wouldn’t take the one thing he’d never offered to, the one thing he asked of everyone else, but who knew what would happen when the wolf was let loose?  
  
Derek wasn’t sure either. He wasn’t trying to turn stiles. That was technically off limits. He was Scott’s. He was part of that pack that wasn’t a wolfpack but counted nonetheless. He wanted everything else he could get his hands and mouth on, though. He was in control enough to remain human as he reached his hand out and grabbed Stiles’ neck, at the base where it met his collarbone, and pulled him in. Derek could smell everything off him. Stiles’ entire day. (He'd spent it with Scott, who was still avoiding Allison. They'd walked in the woods and eaten fried chicken.) He could feel the pulse beneath his hand quicken, more in desire than fear, which make Derek smirk. “How long have you wanted this?”  
  
”I...I dunno. Longer than I’ve known I wanted it. I think.”  
  
”God, no joke. you are so slow.”  
  
“I don’t have super-human senses like you, wolfy.”  
  
”Doesn’t matter, you are still clueless.”  
  
”Fine, whatever.” A lot of eye rolling. “I thought it wasn't--”  
  
”That’s the problem. You think too much. Just stop and feel it. Of course it was.” Derek paused. And there it was. Potential.  
  
Stiles swallowed. “So...are you gonna kiss me, or what?”  
  
”Dunno. Maybe...” Derek pulled Stiles even closer to him, but not so their mouths would meet. Instead, he brought his nose to just below Stiles’ earlobe and sniffed.  
  
It tickled. Stiles tried to pull away, but the grip on his throat tightened till it was hard to breathe. Not impossible, but it required work. And the threat of that, the mild danger inherent in it, turned Stiles on more than he would ever admit to anyone. He didn’t have to admit it to Derek, though. He already knew. He knew everything. Derek had been reading him like a book for ages now. He’d needed to just ignore that fact to keep from drowning in the shame of it every other second. Though, he hadn't been sure till right now to what extent he could be read. He'd figured, since Derek had never used this particular advantage against him, it wasn't that big a deal. That whatever was going on could be ignored, that they could let it be. Which was totally okay.  
  
But this. This was not okay. Well, actually it was kinda beyond okay, verging on extraordinary, but mostly it was scary as fuck. Because it quite possibly meant a lot more than Stiles wanted it to...or maybe less...  
  
”Stop thinking, Stiles. I want your attention. Focus. Right here.”  
  
Stiles let out an exasperated breath, then caught it sharply as he felt Derek’s mouth on his neck. Not just his neck, his pulse point. First it was just lips, dryly brushing the spot where Stiles’ skin jumped with every beat, so light it was almost tender and almost ticklish but somehow too dangerous to be either. It shot a hot shock of sensation all through Stiles’ body, and straight to the one spot he didn’t think he needed more blood converging. Jesus, this was going to be painful. Or messy. Or both.  
  
Don’t think, just feel. Derek gripped his throat harder, though without constricting his breathing any more than necessary, and opened his mouth to lick Stiles’ neck. Stiles let out a soft huff of breath, like a sigh, enjoying the heat, then the cool, the wetness of Derek’s tongue on his skin. But then he stopped breathing altogether because those were teeth. And they were dragging along the wet skin of his neck till they were scraping the artery, pushing back on the pulse, threatening to breach the barrier between it and them. Stiles swallowed. “Derek...?” He breathed his question so softly a non-wolf might have missed it, even that close. A rumble deep from his chest was Derek’s only reply. Trust. Wasn’t that what Scott said formed a pack? Wasn’t that what wolves needed from each other in order to fight alongside, instead of against, each other? But Jesus, this was his lifeblood the wolfman was playing with. He took a slow, deep breath and let it out as Derek’s teeth pushed against the rise and fall. It felt like danger, but not death. He could handle that.  
  
And then the fangs came out. And the claws dug in. And Stiles almost fainted.  
  
Not out of fright, Stiles doesn’t lose it when fear hits him, that’s when he gathers his shit together and owns it. And saves people’s lives. He swooned from the sheer hotness of it. The pressure, the pain, the danger, and yes, a bit of the instinctual, animal fear that was present no matter how much he trusted.  
  
The claws had only just broken the surface of his skin, no real damage yet, tho the possibility of being in ribbons by the end of this did occur to him.  
  
Derek felt the pulse spike under his tongue the moment that thought bloomed in Stiles’ head. He pressed his mouth against it, tonguing to the sped-up rhythm, his fangs laying flat against the skin. He was going to leave a mark, just not his normal one. However, he could smell the blood and it was getting him hot. Stiles’ was flushing against the attention his pulse point was receiving, arching his neck to give Derek more room and simultaneously pushing slightly in the direction of the claws.  
  
Derek refrained from sinking them into Stiles’ neck, but just barely. He dragged them down the back from hairline to nape, only cutting in enough to leave pinstripes of blood. Stiles hissed and bent into it, but Derek didn’t hook in any deeper. When he met collar and hood he almost slashed everything to bits, though.  
  
”Easy, tiger.”  
  
Derek growled. “I’m not a cat, Stiles.”  
  
”I know, but I can’t say ‘wolfy’ without doing it in a german accent: Vohlfee.” Another growl met that pronunciation. “...and though you are a total fox, I doubt you’d take kindly to that either.”  
  
”Foxy is for women.”  
  
”No it’s not, yer just thinking of the song.”  
  
”Shut up, Stiles. The point is, right now, you should be shirtless instead of verbose.”  
  
”Verbose?? look at you--” The growl got loud and menacing and the air was sliced to bits just inches from Stiles’ chest. “Okay... shirtless.” He moved to undress quickly.  
  
”I’m not against gagging you, you know.” Stiles stopped still with the shirt over his head, his pale torso borrowing an orange tinge from the streetlamp. “That was a joke.”  
  
”Okay, good. I think.”  
  
”Don’t think. Feel.”  
  
”Right.”  
  
”Here, lemme help.” One hand when to Stiles’ chest, the other, to his upper thigh.  
  
”No claws down there!”  
  
”Sssh.” Stiles suddenly had five very sharply felt points creating heightened sensation on (and in) his chest, and causing the hairs to raise up all along his spine. “I can feel it vibrate through my claws.” Soft, low, almost silky. Derek's voice felt like a caress.  
  
”What?” Stiles wasn’t far from being in a trance, focused so hard on the five cold points goosebumping his chest and the palm heat pressing on his thigh. One corner of his brain was judging ribcage strength and femoral artery pressure, but almost all the rest was more present in the moment than he’d allowed himself to be in some time.  
  
”Your heart beat, what else? I’m right above it.” Five points turned into one, and then it was a line, thin and white hot, circling his heart. Stiles had lowered his eyelids to concentrate, but when the circle that should have closed instead continued on, they flew up so he could catch Derek’s face in the shadowed light. He was focused on Stiles’ chest, but felt the gaze and locked on it for a moment before pointedly looking back at his handiwork. Stiles followed his eyes and saw the circle spiraling inward, about to come to the center point. He gasped at the faintly purple trail that he knew should have been red, almost to the point of dripping.  
  
”What is--?”  
  
”Nothing.” There was a minute pause as he finished the last curl, dug in a small end point, then put his hand flat against the symbol, causing a sharp sting. The pain radiated like heat through stiles’ torso and warmed Derek’s hand.  
  
”That’s not nothing, Derek.”  
  
”No, it's not. it’s protection.”  
  
”I don’t need-- You didn’t ask--”  
  
”Stop sounding like Scott for a second.” Stiles’ mouth gaped as if his ears had popped, then snapped shut. “I didn’t ask because it’s a gift. Not like the bite, don’t freak out.”  
  
”I’m not fr--” a clawed finger appeared a hair’s breadth from Stiles’ lips. He had an urge to bite it. He puckered his lips instead, which closed the distance, and ever so faintly kissed it.  
  
The touch of Stiles lips on his wolflike finger shot electric need straight to Derek’s groin and spiraled back up as heat that flushed him to his face and radiated outward. Stiles warmed to it immediately. Hunger growled its way out of Derek's mouth and Stiles jumped as if he’d been shocked. He shifted and scooted back, not to get away, since he’d grabbed the back of Derek’s neck, but to clamber between the seats into the back of the jeep, pulling Derek with, and then on top of, him.  
  
Limbs scattered, chests met, heads bumped, but in a few moments Stiles had Derek where he wanted him: torso resting on his chest, hips between his thighs, and mouth within reach of his own.  
  
”Off.” Stiles tugged at the hem of Derek’s t-shirt and it was gone a moment later. Stiles grinned and raised his eyebrows. “You know, I hate to repeat myself, but are you gonna ki--”  
  
”Lemme put the fangs away first, you idiot.”  
  
”Fine, but...keep the claws?”  
  
”Seriously, Stiles?”  
  
”What?” He shrugged dramatically, his eyes all innocence.  
  
”That requires control. A lot of it.”  
  
”Yeah, well...you love the challenge.”  
  
”And you love the danger.”  
  
”Touche.”  
  
”Don’t mind if I do...” Derek spread his clawed hands across Stiles pecs, enveloping his whole chest in the span. the spiral over his heart still stung when touched. Derek stroked down stiles’ torso with his palms till he reached denim, then ran the backs of his claws back up, with just enough angle for the points to scrape without drawing blood. When they reached his collarbone, they continued lightly up the sides of his neck and through the close-cropped hair at the back of his head, making Stiles shiver. Derek grinned with pleasure at that response. He leaned down and placed his hands back where they started, squarely over Stiles pecs, allowing his palms to brush the now slightly erect nipples. Derek looked Stiles right in the eye, which completed their feedback loop and ran a current of desire through them both strong enough that Stiles had to keep himself from bucking his hips up against Derek. As it was, the twitch they made was reflected in Derek’s lips, from which Stiles was unable to look away. Derek too shifted focus to Stiles’ mouth and finally, finally leaned in for a kiss. The moment their lips brushed, Derek dug all ten claws into Stiles chest, deeper than he had previously gone. The yelp Stiles gave of pained surprise was swallowed by Derek’s mouth, the heat, suppleness, and strength of which was astounding and intensely distracting.  
  
No, not distracting. It’s not like Stiles forgot about how much the claws hurt, instead it was as if he could focus on the kiss more because of how sharp the pain was making his perception. Everything had more clarity, more definition, even with his eyes closed. Of this he was incredibly glad. Because he didn’t want to miss a nanosecond of it. Derek was good. Not that Stiles had made out with that many people (or anyone), but he could tell that Derek knew his way around a mouth and had a very good idea of what moves could undo someone. Also, the only word to describe his approach was ‘ravenous’. Not that Stiles wasn’t feeling the same, but he was happy to merely participate without needing control, and in so doing, reap the benefits of Derek’s experience.  
  
He had to stifle a moan when Derek caught his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, especially when the idea of the fangs coming out in the middle of it banged his heart against his chest hard enough for Derek to feel it. He reacted by digging in to Stiles just the tiniest bit more, then pulling out and retracting his claws. Fear spiked the heady hormone cocktail coursing through Stiles at the dig, and the faster heartbeat made for slightly more blood when the wounds were vacated. Stiles pulled his lip free and gasped for breath, registering the shift in the type of pain from sharp and tight to dull and loose. His eyelids drooped as he rode the high that fear and desire and pain had created, then flicked open and alert when Derek’s nose brushed his earlobe and his fingertips--human, soft fingertips--trailed down along the reverse path the claws had taken a few minutes before, barely touching the scraped skin.  
  
”You smell amazing.”  
  
”Like what?”  
  
”Like fear and sex.”  
  
Stiles chuckled awkwardly. “Jesus, is it that apparent?”  
  
”Yes, Stiles.”  
  
”Well, fuck.”  
  
”You want to?”  
  
”Um...no?!” Stiles was over-compensating, more dismissive and jokey (and homophobic) than necessary. Than he actually felt. Though it seemed to Derek that fucking of any kind wasn’t even really on Stiles’ radar. Orgasms are one thing, and every teenage boy needs them. But this thing they were doing was still too new and scary to support the weight of something as daunting as intercourse. And that was fine. Derek felt the same way, actually. Not that fucking a boy was scary, but that it wasn’t on the table. Not really. Not right now. There were a lot of other things to get to first.  
  
He traced the inside rim of Stiles’ ear with the tip of his tongue, slowly and gently till he heard an ‘unf’, at which he smiled against the temple.  
  
“You can really smell fear and sex on me?”  
  
”Yeah. and you know what?”  
  
”Nope.”  
  
”'Somewhere between fear and sex passion is.’ Wanna show me where you keep yours?” He’d moved his lips to just behind Stiles’ ear, leaving tiny kisses all down the underside of his jaw and the hollow of his neck muscle.  
  
”Ah...right there?” Derek had reached the divot just above where his neck met his clavicle.  
  
”Perfect. Now trust me.” And then he bit that exact spot.  
  
Stiles hands flew from the small of Derek’s back, where they had been resting, to the sides of Derek’s head, originally with the intent of pulling him off. Almost immediately, however, he realized that Derek’s fangs were safely put away and this was a very human bite--or as human as possible in this case. The next thing he realized was how much he enjoyed the pain of it, searing hot, sharp, but not to the point of rupturing. As soon as his hands reached Derek’s head, then, they cupped the base of it and held him in place.  
  
Only for a moment, though.  
  
In order to deal with the pain, which was slowly increasing as Derek clamped down ever harder, Stiles had to keep his hands moving. He began touching everything in reach to bring up new sensations onto which he could map the pain, to leave bits of it all along the trails his hands made, bite-sized pieces he could handle easier than when it was all one big chunk threatening to crush him. He traced every muscle he could reach across Derek’s back and sides, arriving again at the small of his back as the bite hit its hardest point. Stiles had been holding his breath, but grunted through the peak of the pain, pushing hard on Derek’s lower back and grinding up into him with his hips.  
  
The force of it, of Stiles’ desire, breaking through all his barriers and asserting its desperate need, made Derek unclench his teeth and press his hips hard into Stiles’ for the reanimating moment--the moment when all the blood rushes back into the bitten flesh and all the energy that was unlocked simmered hot right there on the surface. Derek, as was his habit, licked the bite mark, slow and hard, pulling a bit of ache out of it but leaving enough wetness that when he blew on it, the cool air felt like a balm to the burning skin.  
  
He paid attention to detail, did Derek. And he really was a master of control. Stiles’ head had fuzzed out for a bit, but the cooling breath helped clear him enough to smile at the gesture. Then, just because he could (and also because he wanted to see what would happen) he very specifically and with full intention behind it, bucked his hips up into Derek as he put his mouth on Derek’s neck. The hard muscle and the thrumming pulse point were satisfying for his lips and tongue to explore, the skin tasted both salty and sweet, the smell off him was a heady musk. Derek huffed a growly sigh and pushed back with his hips, grinding too many layers of fabric together to sate the swollen flesh underneath. Stiles nipped at the spot on Derek’s neck that he had been sucking to a bruise and moved back in for a kiss.  
  
Derek’s fingers reached Stiles’ bite mark just as their mouths met and there was a pause as Stiles’ breath hitched hard and the faintest whine was pulled from the back of his throat. Derek didn’t let up the pressure on the bite as he found a claw mark on Stiles’ chest and pushed on that as well. Stiles’ breath came in even harder hitches, halts, and spurts, and Derek leaned in to feel it rush across his cheek.  
  
”Derek” Stiles whispered, mid-gasp.  
  
”Yeah?”  
  
”What do you want from me? I'll do any--”  
  
”Don’t beg. Counter attack.”  
  
He didn’t think, he just did the thing that would have been the most damaging had their roles been reversed. He dug his fingernails (such as they were, short but a bit jagged) into Derek’s shoulder muscles and dragged them all the way down his back and across his hips.  
  
Derek responded with a gasp of surprise and pleasure, followed by a low rumble as the pain sunk in. He also let up on Stiles' pain points.  
  
”More.” A throaty growl that made Stiles, one, very hard against Derek’s swelling jeans and two, determined to ride the passion as it built between them.  
  
He obeyed by grabbing a fistful of hair and jerking Derek’s head to the side, then sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle right on the top of his shoulder, at the base of his neck. That spot where everyone keeps their tension and people are most inclined to dig their thumbs into when giving a massage. He wasn’t trying to break the skin, just clamp down hard and roll the muscle between his teeth, ensuring a comprehensive bruise.  
  
All the built up tension in that muscle, in that deep knot that could never be worked out, felt as though it liquified. The pressure and pain from Stiles’ teeth caused a sensation like boiling blood to flow through Derek’s shoulder, spreading outward across his back and neck. Derek growled low and went limp, unable for a moment to keep his head up.  
  
The power Stiles felt at making Derek unable to function, even if it was only because he’d opened himself up to being affected like this, was intoxicating. He bit down harder, and the growl turned breathy, sounding more like a cross between a whine and a purr. Stiles could feel it reverberating in his own chest and it caused him difficulty breathing. His heart banged against Derek's sternum and his hips lost the ability to remain still. Derek's started moving against him at the same moment and they both caught their breath hard at the friction. There was a bit too much of it, what with all the fabric and potential for chafing, but neither of them cared.  
  
Everything about this was incredibly hot, maybe even too hot. And though Stiles was trying to just feel his way through it, it was almost too much. And he couldn't help but start thinking. Because the feeling of this was so novel. It wasn’t how anything had ever felt with Lydia. Not that he had gotten within a mile of this close to her, but still, his feelings for her were totally different than whatever Derek inspired in him. Whatever this was, it wasn't the love or care he had towards Lydia. There was no room here for chivalrous feelings, or jealousy, or heartbreak. But Stiles was pretty fucking sure this wasn’t purely lust. Not that that particular emotion wasn’t insanely strong right now and very persistent, tugging at him like a dog at a leash, but it wasn’t the only one in the mix. Somewhere, there was a deep vein of loyalty swirling throughout. Not in a ‘I’ll never love another’ sort of way, because, really, that's a joke. Somehow, it was more in a ‘we are each other’s territory’ sort of way. Because Derek had marked him. Not just with the spiral, with his teeth and claws. And Stiles had marked Derek. Which felt kind of awesome. Not that he had any idea what that meant. Because if Stiles was a part of any pack it was Scott’s. But he really didn’t belong in a pack at all, since he wasn’t a wolf. Though maybe if you are swapping bodily fluids with one, then...then what?  
  
”Stop thinking, Stiles” It came out a gruff, short grunt.  
  
“Shut up, how do you know this shit?”  
  
”You've lost the rhythm.”  
  
”Oh. oops. Sorry...”  
  
“Dammit.” Derek raised himself up on his knees between Stiles' legs, and wiped his hand over his face.  
  
“What? I'm sorry, I--”  
  
“Never mind, it's fine.”  
  
“Are you sure? Because--”  
  
“Yes. I'm sure. Roll over.”  
  
“Oh, no. What are you--”  
  
“Roll. Over.” Derek's voice was completely taken over by the growl that was closer to a roar. Stiles jumped spasmodically and scrambled to obey immediately, already regretting saying yes to this wild animal in boy's clothing. Because this was not what he had in mind.  
  
Derek shifted so that he was straddling Stiles' haunches and made no move towards either of their belts. Stiles dared to breathe again. Derek smirked. “Really, Stiles? Gimme some credit...”  
  
“Look, I don't know how this works...I mean, I—oh, fuuuck...”  
  
“In a good way?”  
  
“Uh...yeah...? Dunno...oh...”  
  
“Heh. Just wait.”  
  
Stiles had lost all capacity for speech when Derek's strong, human hands started digging hard into the muscles of his shoulders and back. A massage was definitely not what he had guessed would happen and it was very welcome. Though it was hard to relax completely when that 'just wait' was hanging over him.  
  
“If the muscles are loose and warm, the blood flows more freely.” There was a wolfish grin hidden in those words.  
  
“Shit, seriously? Come on! Lemme up, Derek.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Derek--”  
  
“Listen, Stiles. If you can tell me truthfully that you don't want me to scratch your back, I'll let you up.”  
  
“I don't want you to...cut my back to pieces. All right? Scratching is different. I think.”  
  
“Good. That's what I thought.” Stiles could hear the 'swick' sound, like a switchblade, that never failed to raise his heart rate.  
  
“You really get off on this, don't you?”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Did Kate let you scratch her to shit?”  
  
“Do not mention Kate when my claws are out. Or ever.” The growl came low and menacing. Stiles could feel it in his ass and the backs of his thighs. It felt better than it should.  
  
“Okay, okay. I'm not trying to provoke you, but just so you know, growling right now, in that spot, is a great idea.”  
  
Derek assessed where he was in relation to stiles' perineum and shifted slightly, then nestled in. They both let out a grunting breath.  
  
“Jesus, this is crazy. How did I let you talk me into this?”  
  
“You were the one broadcasting, I just picked up the scent.”  
  
“Oh, God. How embarrassing.”  
  
“Shouldn't be. It's just sex.”  
  
“No it's not.” Derek huffed an annoyed breath and retracted his claws. Stiles turned his head and shoulders as far as he could to see him. “No, I mean, whatever about what you wanna call this” he waved his hand back and forth between them, then around to include the jeep. “Go ahead and call it sex if you want. Or don’t. Whatever. But--and I don't care that this is more action than I've ever gotten with another person--” He shrugged off the embarrassment of this admission to finish his thought. “--but I think I'd know if the motivation behind this was purely fucking. My point is, this is not just sex. It's something else too.”  
  
“Stiles, if you are asking me to be your boyfriend--”  
  
“No. No, I—no. Jesus.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“Come on. This is about power. And control. And fear. What the hell do you think we are doing here?”  
  
“Huh. Yeah.”  
  
“And maybe, a little bit about trust...?”  
  
Derek's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He hadn't expected Stiles to have figured all of this out yet. He hadn't really consciously analyzed it to this extent himself. So that's what Stiles was doing when he wasn't staying focused on sensation. He was processing everything, even motives, and coming up with understanding. Maybe in future he should ask Stiles where he has gone instead of just trying to pull him back to be with him in the present.  
  
“When you said I was broadcasting, I said that was embarrassing because that means you know how much you scare me. However, you came here tonight, not to take advantage of that, but to use fear and control to illustrate a power dynamic and build trust.”  
  
“Geez, Stiles, you think too much.”  
  
“Tell me I'm wrong.” Stiles stared hard into Derek's eyes and it was clear he'd know if Derek was lying, even without hearing his heartbeat.  
  
“Fine. You are not wrong.”  
  
“Thank you. Now. Tell me why we are doing this. Aside from the fact that it feels incredible.”  
  
“Does there have to be another reason?”  
  
“No, but there is one.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“Gimme some credit here. Just because I'm the only regular old human in my entire social circle doesn't mean I don't pay attention.”  
  
“Fine. Okay.”  
  
“Is it to do with Scott? Because so help me God, if this is all based on ulterior motives I will never let you near me again.” He turned away, though whether it was because he was angry, or his neck was cramping, Derek couldn't tell.  
  
“You sure you could keep that promise?” Derek leaned down and lightly rubbed the tip of his nose between Stiles shoulder blades. He had to cant his hips slightly to do it.  
  
“ah...mm. Well, I'd try my damnedest...”  
  
“It's not.” Derek pressed his bulge harder against the base of Stiles' ass, licked the spot his nose had just touched, then exhaled hot on the wet trail he'd left behind.  
  
“huhh... Derek, remember when I said I knew this was about trust? I really want to trust you. For so many reasons that have nothing to do with the fact that I am literally prone to any kind of attack you feel like mounting against me right now.”  
  
“Admirable choice of words.” Derek stretched his hands up to where Stiles' were resting above his head, draping the length of his torso and arms over Stiles' back and arms, mouth landing at the nape of his neck.  
  
“Unf. Thanks, but that's not the point. Give me reason to trust you. Tell me why you are doing this. Tell me the truth. I'll know if you do. I may not have super senses, but I will know.”  
  
“Because it feels good.” Derek's breath tickled the back of Stiles' neck and he arched into the sensation. Derek took that to mean it would be okay to nuzzle into the fuzz at his hairline, even take a hunk of it between his teeth and tug. An intake of breath was his reward.  
  
“Uhh...Yes...and..?”  
  
“And...you smell good.” He trailed his nose up Stiles' neck to the back of his ear and licked the lobe.  
  
“hahh...come on, Derek. I'm serious.”  
  
“So am I. I don't understand why you do it for me, but you do.”  
  
“That's not the only reason though.”  
  
Derek sat up slowly, dragging his palms down Stiles' wrists, arms, shoulders, back, waist, and came to rest at the top of his ass. “No. maybe not. Maybe it's because I'm lonely.”  
  
“You have an entire pack of your own now. How can you be lonely?”  
  
“Because they don't trust me.”  
  
“What makes you think I do?”  
  
“I'm not sure that you do. But I think you could...”  
  
“You should really run your hands down me again.” Derek leaned down and grabbed Stiles' wrists, raised them as far above his head as the jeep would allow, and started running his palms slowly down the full length of him again. “Yes. Good. Thanks. Now, why do you think I could?”  
  
“Because you trust people. You are loyal and unafraid to care about your friends. You know what's right and you see the good in everyone. If they have any. And it feels kind of amazing to see someone find and acknowledge the good in you.”  
  
“I did that? For you?”  
  
“Yeah.” Derek had reached Stiles' hips and wrapped his hands around them, his thumbs only an inch apart at the base of the spine, his fingertips digging into the divots just inside the protruding bones in front. He pressed just hard enough to bruise.  
  
“Mmf. Well, yeah...”  
  
Derek reached just above Stiles' hips to slip his hands around his waist and slide his palms up Stiles' belly and chest. He then wrapped his arms up and around the front of Stiles' shoulders like a backpack and pecked a quick nipping kiss on the center of his back. “Yeah. Thanks.” Then he pulled himself up and flicked his claws out again. Stiles tried not to stiffen at the sound.  
  
“Yer welcome. Please don't kill me.”  
  
“Kill? Where's the fun in that?”  
  
“Ha.”  
  
“Or the trust, for that matter?”  
  
“Look, I'm working on it. Notice how you don't have to do any of the trusting in this equation.”  
  
“Not yet..”  
  
“Oooh, does that mean I can put you in a life threatening situation at some point?”  
  
“If you're good. Now shut up and hold still, I don't wanna slip and hit an artery.”  
  
“Jesus. tell me you are joking."  
  
"We'll see..."


	2. taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets his claws on Stiles, who then wants to know what it's like on the giving end the equation.

“It’s good for you. Trust me.”

“FYI-- throwing out patent lies like that one is not a good way to get me to trust you, Derek.”  
“Okay, fine. It's at least not bad for you. I won't dig deep.”  
  
“Fine, good, whatever, just get it over with. The suspense is killing me...”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
Stiles wasn't lying flat on the seat, the jeep wasn't quite wide enough. His hips were against it because Derek was sitting on his upper thighs, but he was propped up on his elbows and there was just enough room for him to lean forward and rest forehead on the armrest in the door. It made Derek's view particularly pretty because it accentuated Stiles' shoulders and upper back, making the shoulder blades poke out. Then there was that nice concave slope down to his ass that narrowed as it approached his waist. Such body topography was going to be challenging for the promise he's just made, but Derek liked a challenge. And Stiles was right, this whole thing was at least partially about control, though not possibly in the way he thought. Derek didn't have a strong desire to control Stiles. What he did need was control over himself.  
  
He hooked in at the meaty tops of Stiles' shoulders and received an 'Aah...Shit.' in response. His mouth crooked and his fangs were visible. Didn't matter about the control, he was still going to enjoy this. It wasn't the inflicting pain part. It was more about finding the edges. The boundaries. The limits of endurance. He wanted to find out how much Stiles could take, and then he wanted to push him just a little bit further than that. He wanted it so bad, he could taste it. And it was tangy-sweet, like sucking on metal.  
  
Stiles had a pretty good idea of Derek's endgame, but it was mostly based in the fear of Derek going too far. That was his survival instinct though, and didn't really have to do with trust. Well, maybe a little bit...  
  
“Relax, Stiles. It'll be harder for both of us if you tense up.”  
  
“God, did you have to make me feel so ridiculously virginal? How many people's clawing cherries have you popped, anyway?”  
  
“A couple...” It was getting hard for Derek to breathe, his claws sunk in and itching to move.  
  
Stiles could feel Derek's impatience and realized he was wanting to talk through the pain. That would probably annoy Derek, though, which was probably not the best idea at the moment, what with the damage that could ensue. He bit down on his lip and found it helped.  
  
“Okay, I'm gonna go slow. Don't forget to breathe.”  
  
Stiles nodded instead of speaking because he was holding his breath, then let it out on a 'heh' and breathed an 'okay' in response.  
  
Derek let out a sigh as his claws slowly raked over Stiles' shoulders. There was nothing like this feeling, being attached to someone else solely by the tips of your fingers, slicing through their skin, letting each finger follow the terrain separately from the others. He would get to the point where he'd do it with his eyes closed, having memorized the map of Stiles' body, but this first time, his gaze was riveted to his claws as they traveled along the pale skin, leaving red stripes in their wake. It was gorgeous.  
  
The burn was so bright it blinded Stiles. Staticky hot, stinging and sharp. The edges as they were revealed—as the air met the nerve endings—seared him and sucked him dry. Ten separate pinpoints turned into ten separate ribbons of pain, and everything in him wanted to tense up and stop breathing. But he had heard what Derek said and was always one to process information for reference, if not for use. This time he was willing to trust the advice given and willed himself to lower his shoulders from around his ears and keep a steady, slow rhythm of breath (going so far as to intone, in his head, 'in...out...in...”) which opened everything up. And even though breathing through the pain made the cuts gape in ways that weren't comfortable in the least, it did manage to give him relief by simply not allowing stasis. Derek was moving over him, it was only right that he move beneath.  
  
And Derek was good. He went slowly enough that he could anticipate both the contours and motion of Stiles' body and knew how to accommodate them. It was like dancing the tango, or a slow meringue, action vs. reaction, their bodies moving close together in concert with each other. And it worked.  
  
When Derek raked Stiles' waist and hips there was a hot second where it tickled, making Stiles jump, and Derek had to keep from digging in and nicking the sciatic nerve, but disaster was averted and they were both breathing hard together by the end.  
  
The thin red lines were beading with blood and Derek had to close his eyes for a second because it made him dizzy. They were beautiful, though. Ten perfect lines, the entire length of his back. Stiles’ breaths were coming in and out as hisses, Derek's as grunts.  
  
“Oh shit, that felt good.”  
  
“Fffffuck, that went on forever. Oh my God, it hurts. I'm so open I feel flayed, Jesus.”  
  
“Can I lick them? Please?”  
  
“Will it help? I dunno how much more I can take. They are so long and the pain just flows along them...”  
  
“It'll sting for a second but my mouth's clean so it will help them heal well.”  
  
“I'll try anything that might help right now.” Stiles' hands were gripping the door handle so tight they were white.  
  
Derek picked the scratch closest to the center of Stiles' back, starting at the base of his spine and working his way up, maintaining a liberal amount of saliva on his tongue the whole way. It wasn't hard, the taste of blood made his mouth water.  
  
Stiles arched his back and made noise the whole time, from a high-pitched whine to a deep groan, due to the hot tongue leaving a cooling trail all along his back. The wound felt less open when it was over, and Stiles hoped Derek would do the same to each one. Derek happily obliged. To have anything touch the cuts was painful, clearly, but for something so soft, so yielding, and blissfully wet come through after those wicked claws, even if the tip of the tongue was no less invasive, was welcome. A bit nauseating after half of them, but still welcome. Especially with the salivary balm feeling as though it was binding him back together somewhat. It still took all his concentration and breath control to keep from passing out, but it was worth the second go around--or really, the second through the eleventh, as he licked them up one at a time--to feel wrecked but not in pieces.  
  
When he could see again, Stiles turned his head to try and make eye contact. “For fuck's sake, Derek. How is it you can take me apart and put me back together again so quickly?”  
  
“Well, I can't have you taking forever to heal if I wanna do this again soon...”  
  
“What, do you have magic spit or something?”  
  
“Not exactly...”  
  
“Never mind. I don't wanna know.” He sounded absolutely exhausted.  
  
“You okay, Stiles? I didn't break you, did I?”  
  
“No, don't think so. Close, maybe.”  
  
“We will have to work on your stamina. I forgot to mention that the scratching is the shortest part of the ordeal.”  
  
“Ha. Yeah. Though I think I'm glad I didn't know that ahead of time. I'm not sure I would have made it.”  
  
“You'll get used to it.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Can I see the scars?”  
  
“I don't scar, remember?”  
  
“Oh yeah, supernatural healing powers. Right...”  
  
“Don't knock 'em. You will learn to like them a lot, I bet.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
“Because whatever I do to you, you can do to me at least twice. And in quick succession.”  
  
“Really??”  
  
“Yes. But that requires control, Stiles.”  
  
“Sure, fine, yeah. What can I do it with?” He moved to sit up.  
  
“Hold up. You shouldn't be moving just yet. You might pass out. You didn't lose that much blood, but still.”  
  
“Whatever, I’m fine. What can I use?” He was crosslegged and facing Derek, his back straighter than normal.  
  
“What do you have?”  
  
“Uh, nothing...?”  
  
“Great...”  
  
“Come on, who carries around sharp things like pocket knives anymore?”  
  
“I do.” Derek reached to the front pocket of his jeans and slipped a clip off the edge. “Here.” It was flat and silver, with a pocket clip, a thumb hold, and a safety catch. The blade was two inches long and fantastically sharp. Pointed, too. Stiles caught his breath looking at it and heard Derek's come heavy. “Use that. See how you like it. I already know I do.”  
  
“Does it feel the same?”  
  
“As my claws? I guess...?”  
  
“We'll have to do a taste test sometime. Not now, I wouldn't make it.”  
  
“Sure. Whenever you're ready.”  
  
Stiles was flipping the knife open and closed, trying to get a feel for it and get it to move smoothly with one hand. He was so fixated on it that his brows were furrowed and his mouth was slightly open. He licked his lips as he tested the point on his palm and Derek couldn’t help but nuzzle into his neck, kiss his jawline and nip his earlobe. Stiles cocked his head and raised his shoulder against the tickle/scrape of Derek’s unshaven cheeks, but then opened his neck up to the kiss/nip attack. He even turned his head and tossed a quick peck into derek’s hair, but all of this without taking his eyes off the knife.  
  
“You like it.”  
  
“Yeah...a lot.”  
  
“Hang onto it, then.”  
  
“Really?” Stiles dragged his eyes away and up to Derek’s which were less than a foot from his own.  
  
“Sure. Just don’t lose it. If you can’t hold onto it, I won’t trust you to use it.”  
  
“If I can’t hold onto it, I won’t be able to use it, cuz it’ll be gone.”  
  
“Tsk. Just because you lose track of it, doesn’t mean I will.”  
  
“What, does it have some wolfy homing device on it or something?”  
  
“Yeah. The smell of my blood.”  
  
“Oh. Right. Well, okay. I mean, I’m not gonna lose it. It’s too cool.”  
  
“Be careful, though. Don't accidentally take it to school. They will confiscate it and expel you.”  
  
“Look, I know. It’ll be fine. You act like it’s your baby or something.”  
  
“Shut up. It’s my knife. It means something. Don’t be a dick about it.”  
  
“Is this like going steady or something? Should I give you my letter jacket in return?”  
  
“No. Ugh. I just meant I like that knife and I’d appreciate a little care taken with my things.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Stiles saluted as only he could: sarcastically.  
  
Derek turned away at this little jab. “Why do you have to trivialize everything?”  
  
“I--Derek...” Stiles cupped the back of Derek’s head in his palm, and turned his face towards him. “Sorry. I’ll be good to it. I’m flattered. Thank you.” Stiles kissed Derek softly and sweetly on the lips. It was kinda the first time in his life he’d had the opportunity to do that. Generally. To just lean in without much forethought and do something you really want to because you know it will feel good and the other person will enjoy it. It was momentous because it was so spontaneous and trivial.  
  
But Stiles didn’t want to think too hard about it because Derek had responded, and then some. The kiss was turning into a full-on makeout and Stiles was trying not to feel like he was in over his head. His back was still kinda raw but his body was flushing with heat and desire all over again. Derek pulled him into his lap and he sighed at the contact. He pressed down and rocked his hips just enough to get Derek to catch his breath. Stiles took that opportunity to catch Derek’s bottom lip in his teeth and tug, which was met with a tiny moan. He couldn’t get enough of Derek’s mouth though he was pretty sure his entire face was going to be raw from stubbley kisses. It was already starting to burn a bit.  
  
Derek was having a hard time with his hands. He wanted to touch Stiles but knew his back was off limits. He’d rested them on his hips, but once Stiles started to rock he had to keep from just hooking into the denim, taking control, and making Stiles move against his lap to gain release. He didn’t want to be selfish like that though. He was working on his control. So he rested his palms on Stiles’ chest and let them trail slowly down his belly. The skin was so pale and fresh and hot with exertion it made Derek ache just to touch it with his human fingers.  
  
It made Stiles shiver. “Jesus, you are amazing. What the fuck are you doing in my jeep?”  
  
“What does it look like, Stiles?” Derek was annoyed at Stiles’ almost constant interruption. Even if the words were complimentary (maybe because they were), he didn’t want to hear them.  
  
“I dunno. It makes no sense. You are easily the hottest person I have ever laid eyes on. And...fuck. You are undoing my belt.”  
  
“Is there a quicker way to get you to shut up? Cuz I’m open to suggestions...” A couple of Derek’s fingers were on the inside of Stiles’ waistband and when they brushed his abdomen they made every nerve in his skin go electric. All of them, everywhere. Including his back.  
  
“Don’t. Ah, God. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please stop.”  
  
“Really?” Derek froze, baffled.  
  
“Don’t be mad, I just can’t. It--my back--I just...” Stiles was having a hard time breathing. Both sides of his torso were feeling as if they tickled so bad they hurt. The electric current had ramped up to the threshold of pain and was making the scratches sing. The ache was very close to unbearable.  
  
Derek took his hands away, holding them up as if Stiles was pointing a gun. “How could I be mad? You look like you are in agony. I’m sorry, what did I--”  
  
“No, it’s fine. You didn’t do anything. Except scratch the fuck out of my back. Which I definitely wanted you to do. It’s okay. It’s just not a good idea to touch me right now.”  
  
“Sure, okay...” Stiles had squeezed his eyes so tight shut his whole face was puckered. Derek kinda wanted to kiss it, but was worried that would startle him too much. “What can I do?”  
  
“Just gimme a sec.”  
  
Derek slowly put his hands on Stiles thighs, which were straddling his own, and rubbed them firmly, so as not to tickle, in a hopefully soothing way. His fingernail clicked on the knife clip and Stiles’ eyes flew open. “Yes. this.” Stiles grabbed the knife and opened it, letting it catch a gleam off the streetlight. “This is perfect. Where do you like it?”  
  
“Can you even see straight?”  
  
“Not while looking at you, wolfboy.”  
  
“Oh, Jesus....”  
  
“What? Come on. I need a distraction from this crazy thing you’ve opened up in me. Where do you like to feel the knife?”  
  
“Anywhere, just start shallow, okay?”  
  
“Yeah. Of course. I don’t know what this feels like yet either, don’t worry.”  
  
“It feels like a knife in your skin. Haven’t you ever cut yourself before?”  
  
“No, I mean what it feels like on this end. Might be really trippy, who knows?”  
  
“I--”  
  
“Sh. Lemme concentrate.” Stiles chose the hard expanse of chest in front of him to focus on first. He adjusted his grip on the knife so it was firm but gave him plenty of control, and he touched the tip of the blade to the skin of Derek’s pec, right above his heart. He had the point ready to pierce the skin, but couldn’t make himself do it. He imagined the skin of his own chest in this situation. Which reminded him... “I thought the spiral meant a death sentence.”  
  
“Counter clockwise means revenge. My triskelion is clockwise. So is that one.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the already scabbing scratch on Stiles’ chest. “Clockwise is protection from revenges or curses.”  
  
“Who are you protecting me from?”  
  
“Not sure yet. Anyone, really. Myself included.”  
  
He looked up and into Derek's eyes. “You’re joking.”  
  
“No. It will keep me from lashing out at you. Especially when I wolf-out.” Stiles’ eyes were wide. “Look, there is always risk involved in getting close to someone, even if they aren’t a werewolf. But in this case there’s the possibility of unforeseen catastrophes. I’m trying to take precautions to make sure I don’t destroy you. Show some gratitude.”  
  
Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Calm down, sourwolf. I was about to. I’m impressed. Honestly. That’s gotta take some real self-knowledge and humility to protect someone from yourself.”  
  
“Well, if there is anything being a Hale Wolf has taught me, it’s those two qualities.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I should congratulate you or commiserate.”  
  
Derek’s smirky chuckle half snarl. “Thanks.” He looked down at the point of the knife dimpling his skin. “Me neither.”  
  
“Derek?”  
  
“Yeah?” Derek looked up at Stiles, totally unguarded, and the moment their eyes locked, Stiles pushed the point into his skin.  
  
He had thought it might be easier not to look and just feel it. Feel how much resistance, feel when it gave way, feel Derek’s response to the sensation. He was astounded at how exactly he could gauge it from watching Derek’s face. The surprise and onset of pain, adjusting and engaging with it, finding the endurance to deal with it. Also, the vulnerability of being subject to however much pain Stiles would cause him (within reason, clearly). It was awe inspiring. It was heady.  
  
That taste of power again. Stiles was beginning to like it. He knew it could be taken from him at any moment were he to misuse it, however, so he was willing to wield it responsibly in order to continue being worthy of moments like this. He had only pushed in until wince lines appeared around Derek’s eyes. Not deep at all. But the knife was still in. Which meant Derek couldn’t heal yet.  
  
He swallowed as he watched Stiles assess the situation and decide what he wanted next. Derek could tell this was brand new territory for him. The release of pain was, as always, somewhat welcome and somewhat feared. The pain of healing was welcome when it came, even if it was sometimes just as intense as the wounding. He wouldn’t tell Stiles that yet, though. The smell coming off of Stiles at that moment was so clean--fear, power, pleasure, and a whiff of uncertainty--he didn’t want to muddy it with guilt.  
  
“Okay, I have no idea what I’m doing. What do you want? I don’t even know how this works...”  
  
Derek took a breath with a bit of a smile in it. “You’re doing fine. Go slow, use control. Other than that, it doesn’t matter what you do. You could write a story on me for all I care. Though the beginning might heal before you got to the end.”  
  
“I don’t think I have the stamina--or the stomach--for that, even if you do.”  
  
“So I’m guessing you won’t want to carve me up like an autopsy anytime soon....”  
  
“Oh my God, no! That’s disgusting! Would you even survive that? Aren’t there limits to this immorality thing?”  
  
“You know the answer to that. You’ve seen us cut in half.”  
  
“Well the last thing I want to do is sever any part of you.” He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly, looking down at the knife.  
  
“Thanks.” Derek was smirking.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know you were joking. But I’m not ready to make fun of this kind of thing yet.” He saw the amused surprise in Derek’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the funnyman has lost his sense of humor. Look. I have a knife in my hand. And it’s embedded in your chest. This shit is serious.” He rolled his shoulders back. “At least until I know what I’m doing...”  
  
Derek found that he was holding his breath, watching Stiles’ determined focus on the knife in his chest. It wasn’t out of fear of what Stiles would do next, but anticipation for it. He emptied his lungs gradually, willing his heartbeat to slow, on the lookout for the moment of decision in Stiles’ face. It never came. The pain did, though.  
  
Stiles had given up on thinking and was just going by feel. And he could feel the knife do this tiny bounce thing with every heartbeat. He waited until Derek had slowed his pulse down enough to remove the tip in between beats, then waited only a couple more before pushing in again just an inch or two to the right of the first spot. He didn’t cut any deeper than the first time, though for a fraction of a second Derek thought he was going to twist the blade in the wound. Instead, he pulled back slightly without bringing the tip fully out of the wound, then pressed in again till it made Derek hiss. Then he moved on to another spot, this time, just to the left of the first one.  
  
Three marks, three times digging in with the point just as far as it took to hurt. There was a good amount of muscle between skin and bone on this part of Derek’s body, but Stiles wasn’t interested in delving, though maybe he was taking the request to start shallow to heart. Stiles’ eyes were blown so dark and wide it was entrancing, his focus laser-sharp. Derek wondered if Stiles even remembered he was there, attached to the flesh he was puncturing.  
  
“Not that I’ve done this, well, ever, but your skin...” Stiles fingers traced over Derek’s pec, getting as close to the wounds as possible without touching them. “It never really opens.” He glanced up at Derek, licking his lips, then back down at the cuts. “It doesn’t look like my back felt. Does it start healing on contact?”  
  
Derek took a second to answer because that moment had spiked his lust hard. Stiles’ intense interest and focus on him, his gentle fingers on bare skin, the flash of heat in his eyes, the glisten of his wet lip, the metal still embedded keeping all the nerve endings popping, the friction in the unconscious shift of his weight in Derek’s lap to accommodate what the extra blood flow had achieved... “Generally, yeah.”  
  
“So, you can never feel as raw as I do when you dig into me.”  
  
“I...I dunno. What does it fee--ah”  
  
Stiles had slid the knife out and found another spot to puncture, just to the right and a little below the second cut. He was alternating outward from the first one, it seemed. This time he increased pressure so slowly it took a long time to break through, and then, because he was pushing pretty hard by the end, the tip slid right in quicker and farther than before. “Oh, shit.” He pulled back out slightly, watching to see if he could discern the healing process on the ends of the cut that were now longer than the tip of the blade inside it. “It feels like fire. Like the air ignites the nerve endings and your skin is ablaze.”  
  
Derek leaned his head back and Stiles looked up at him, registering his face for the first time in a while. “Holy shit, Derek. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to--”  
  
“It’s all right. Really.”  
  
“No, that was insensitive. I--”  
  
“It’s fine.” He closed his eyes to the sting in them.  
  
Derek sounded exhausted all of a sudden and Stiles pulled the knife out so he could concentrate on whether he was okay or not. Making a reference to how someone’s entire family died is probably number one on the list of things to avoid during a makeout session. (Or whatever this had become.) “Derek...?” Stiles put a hand to Derek’s cheek, then trailed fingertips down his neck and along the top of his collarbone, rounded his shoulder and continued down his arm, all the way to his wrist.  
  
“Hmm.” Stiles took that sound as positive commentary and repeated the action but with both hands, one on either side of his body. The ‘mmmmm’ this elicited sounded like a low purr. When Stiles brought his fingers up to Derek’s cheeks one more time, he found they were wet. He swiped them dry with his thumbs, licked the salt water off his hands, then put them back on either side of Derek’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him. The compassion with which Stiles began the kiss quickly morphed into passion as it fed off the hunger with which Derek responded.  
  
Stiles held his own in this kiss, actively searching Derek’s mouth, entangling his tongue, using lips and teeth to draw moans of pleasure out of them both. He was a quick study, using some of Derek’s best moves on him to great effect. Derek was impressed. Then, when Stiles was sucking on Derek’s tongue, he realized Stiles hands were no longer on his face, but on his chest, feeling for the cuts he’d made. They were already scabbing over, but pressure brought the ache of healing to the fore. Derek panted and rocked his hips, Stiles’ grin looked pained. “Can I...?” Stiles reached for the knife where he’d left it on the seat next to them.  
  
“Don’t ever leave it open like that, Stiles.”  
  
“Sorry, I won’t do it again. But can I make one more?” He gestured with the blade to Derek’s chest.  
  
“Sure, yes.” He was hot enough from the kissing that he really just wanted release, but the pain would help distract him from it since the odds of getting that from Stiles tonight seemed slim. Which was fine. That wasn’t the point, anyway...  
  
Stiles had chosen the last point of entry to be to the left of the third cut, a bit further out and down than the others. He was also holding the knife with his left hand. It took until Stiles held his right up to the wounded chest, his fingertips hovering over the cuts, that Derek understood there was a reason for the pattern. Five marks fanned out on the top part of his left pectoral, placed to look like the claw marks of someone’s right hand, where the palm would be directly over his heart. And not just someone’s. Stiles’ hand. They lined up kinda perfectly with the length of his fingers. Which seemed impressive as Derek didn’t remember him measuring off of his hand with any of the other cuts. But there he was, lining the thumb up just right. And then he was pushing the tip in, with more confidence than before. Derek hissed. That one felt specifically good for whatever reason. Stiles pulled the knife out sooner than he’d done before, but slid it right back in again. “Ha--” It felt almost as intense as the first time, even though there wasn’t enough time for any healing to be done. He pulled out again and specifically didn’t look at Derek as he moved his focus to the palm area of the pattern and used the length of the blade to slice a diagonal line about two inches in length. He then chanced the quickest of glances at Derek before making a second cut in the opposite direction, bisecting the first.  
  
Derek chuckled. Stiles blushed.  
  
“X marks the spot?”  
  
“Shut up. You carved a fucking spiral into my chest. You said I could do whatever I wanted.” He made as if to get up off Derek’s lap. Derek grabbed his triceps to keep him in place. “Besides, it’ll be gone in a few minutes, won’t it?” Stiles’ voice had gone a bit whiney.  
  
“I wasn’t making fun, Stiles. I like it.” He stroked up and down the arms in his grasp. “But yes. It’ll heal quickly and there won’t be any scars.”  
  
“Scars. Right.” Stiles reached for the back of his neck.  
  
“And the wounds of yours that I lick will be very faint when they heal.”  
  
“You really do have magic spit, then. Gross.” He was smiling as he said it.  
  
“Kind of.” Derek felt his face heat up slightly.  
  
“Gross and cool.”  
  
Derek looked down to see the knife still in Stiles’ grasp. “Are you done with that for now?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”  
  
“Okay, then clean it, close it, and put it away.”  
  
“Sir, yes sir.” He smirked. And then his grin got wider as something seemed to dawn on him. “Wanna help with that?”  
  
“Uh, okay...?”  
  
“Open up.” Stiles was holding the knife up between their chests, looking intently at Derek’s mouth, which dropped open involuntarily from surprise. “Good boy... Now give me your tongue.” There really wasn’t anything different about his voice or his bearing, but Derek felt as though Stiles could have gotten him to do anything at that moment, he was completely in his thrall. It could have just been the intensity of his want, which was apparent to Derek in the heat of Stiles’ gaze and the hardness he pressed up against Derek’s pelvis, or it could have been some latent alpha tendency in him that Derek had yet to see. Either way, it was excruciatingly hot and made him unable to deny Stiles, or himself, the pleasure of obeying.  
  
Derek pushed his flattened tongue out over the front of his teeth, as if he were about to receive communion, and Stiles, with infinite care, placed the flat of the blade onto its center and spread across it, leading with the back of the knife, the sharp edge trailing so as not to cut. He then flipped it over and repeated the smooth stroke across the tongue before checking both sides for any remnants of blood. He then brought the knife to his thigh and swiped each side across his jeans to dry it before closing it and putting it back in his pocket. Only then did Derek remember to close his mouth and swallow, clearly turned on by the proceedings. Stiles’ smirk was back. “Does that meet with your standards, sir?”  
  
“I’d say you took good care of it, which is all I can ask for.”  
  
“I would have ministered to it myself, but wasn’t sure if there’s something sketchy about ingesting werewolf blood. Like turning me into your sex slave or something?” Derek scrunched his face up at that remark. Stiles laughed. “Oh, come on, that’s funny, cuz...”  
  
“Not funny.”  
  
Stiles cleared his throat and stopped smiling. “Why, is it something serious? Do I need to worry? Cuz I got some on my fingers earlier...”  
  
“It would kill you if you were a vampire.”  
  
“Haaaa...that’s good. Vampires aren’t real...wait...are they?” Derek just looked at him. “But...nooo. Oh. Shit.” Stiles shook his head. “That doesn’t bode well...I’m gonna pretend I didn’t learn that...”  
  
“That’s probably best, given it doesn’t have any bearing on Beacon Hills and it will just make you more paranoid than you already are.”  
  
“Look, ‘just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you’.”  
  
“Is that a quote?”  
  
“Oh my God, have you never heard of Nirvana? Territorial Pissings?? Right up your angsty alley, man....Nevermind.”  
  
“Wait, that’s an album, right?”  
  
“No, that’s me giving up. But yes. Anyway. Don’t think about elephants. Vampires. Whatever.” Stiles' arms got a little flappy as he waved away the thoughts.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
“I’m fine. I’m done.” He sat back on Derek's knees with some measure of finality.  
  
It took Derek by surprise but he tried not to show it. “With...what?”  
  
“Well, with being awake, it’s like, 2am or something stupid.”  
  
“I should let you go, then.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe. But only if you come again tomorrow night.” Stiles closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
Derek leaned in to put his lips practically against Stiles’ ear. “You’ll let me come?” Stiles hummed and nodded sleepily. “Will you let me make you come?”  
  
“Oh, fuck.” He leaned his head against Derek’s, who was waiting for an answer before putting his mouth on Stiles’ ear. “I mean, no. Not _fuck_. But...”  
  
“But what, Stiles?”  
  
“Oh, God.” He opened his eyes when he heard Derek inhale deeply. Smells like sex. What does that mean? What does sex smell like? Cum? Sweat? Like the jeep does right now?  
  
“What do you want, Stiles?”  
  
“Right now, your mouth on my ear. And neck.” Derek obliged gladly and was rewarded with breathy moans. After a bit, Stiles started to squirm. “Wait. Stop, Derek.”  
  
He did. “Do you mean that?”  
  
He opened his eyes and looked sheepish. “As much as I don’t want to, yes, cuz otherwise this will never end. And it needs to. I have to go to school in the morning.”  
  
“Fine. But remind me we need to talk about safewords tomorrow.”  
  
“Uh, sure. Safewords. Also, coming. That should happen. Or my balls might explode.”  
  
“Hm. Fine. We’ll talk about that too.”  
  
“Heh, look at you, wanting to _talk_...” Stiles nuzzled his nose against Derek’s jaw, eyes closed again.  
  
“Go to bed, Stiles.”  
  
“Okay...” Derek kissed Stiles’ temple and nudged him to get up off his lap.  
  
Outside the jeep, Stiles leaned against the hood and hooked his finger into Derek’s belt loop, then pulled his hips against his own. “Good night, Wolfy.”  
  
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles chuckled deep and low, which made Derek wrap his fingers around Stiles’ hips and lean in close. “Good night, kiddo.”  
  
“Ouch...”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Fine, no ‘Wolfy’.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Now kiss me goodnight.”  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  



End file.
